I was touring a
juice factory.
A factory representative was waving toward a large pond full of children and strange colors. He told me his company only employed clean kids to stomp the berries in the pond. The aim was to create a perfect blend of flavor and innocence.
As if I was watching a documentary, there was a voice over and the scene moved to a young boy. Disembodied-voice-over-man said, “Watch as we gauge the reaction of our juicers."
The young boy mixed some berries together and sipped the liquid they made from a compartmentalized-wooden-juice-tester on a long stick.
He made a gross out face, but when the voice over man asked if the juice was good the boy said yes, the voice over rewound back to the yuck face the boy had made and said, “See that face. We know better. Make it good for the people, now.” The taste test boy grinned, aw shucks, they caught me trying to be agreeable.
I noticed that there was a little girl, maybe four years old, sitting in the pond, dumping juice from teacups and splashing around.
Rubber duckies floated on the surface.